


take back the holly and mistletoe

by colonel_bastard



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn (1996)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Christmas, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunk Blow Jobs, Drunkenness, M/M, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Rough Oral Sex, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2842256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonel_bastard/pseuds/colonel_bastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A spontaneous drunk lipsync turns into a spontaneous drunk striptease which leads to spontaneous drunk blowjobs.  Merry freaking Christmas, Gecko brothers-style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take back the holly and mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> got the mental image of a drunk Richie passionately lipsyncing to Vince Vance and the Valiants' [All I Want For Christmas Is You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7zPXEhqjyQE) stuck in my head and wanted to share it with the world. blowjobs were an inevitable side effect.
> 
> highly recommend [listening to the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7zPXEhqjyQE) to set the mood.

-

-

-

It’s Christmas Eve and they’re drunk as fuck. Seth is sprawled out on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table, his head spinning. Richie is curled up on the cushion beside him, his arm thrown across Seth’s stomach and his face buried in the crook of Seth’s armpit. HIs glasses are sort of stabbing into Seth’s ribs, but Seth doesn’t really mind that much. On the TV they’ve got one of those old-fashioned live broadcasts of a crackling fireplace. On the radio they’ve got the local Christmas music station. And on the coffee table, aside from Seth’s feet, they’ve got a scattering of empty whiskey bottles and shot glasses. 

Seth has one hand tangled in Richie’s hair, absently tugging it to the rhythm of the radio. Richie has one leg flung over Seth’s thigh, absently humping him to the same tempo. Right now it’s ‘Jingle Bell Rock.’ Nice, easy cadence. Seth can feel a sort of rumble going in his chest, every exhale almost a growl, as lust gradually stirs up through the haze of the alcohol. Richie keeps nuzzling his face against his sweatshirt, insistent, needy. He’s horny as fuck, and goddamn if that doesn’t make Seth horny as fuck, too. As the song comes to a close, he’s aware that his grip on Richie’s hair has tightened into a fist, already preparing to yank his head back for a kiss.

He’s just about to make his move when the next song comes on. 

Then Richie arches against him with a gasp, clutching at Seth in sudden, intense pleasure. Seth has to clench his teeth against a startled gasp of his own, as Richie’s full-body spasm sends an instantaneous surge of blood straight to his cock.

“Jesus, buddy,” he says, strained. 

Richie shudders with satisfaction. “Fuck, man, I _love_ this song.”

Seth, reeling, struggles to focus on the sound of the music and not the thunder of his heart pounding in his skull. He knows this tune. It’s Vince Vance and the Valiants, ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You.’ Just as he recognizes the wail of those guitars, Richie bolts up out of his lap, scrambling around the coffee table to stand in the center of their crappy apartment’s living room, where he turns to face Seth, the artificial fireplace at his back. And as Lisa Layne sets in with the lyrics, Richie starts to mouth the words right along with her. 

“ _Take back the holly and mistletoe,  
Silver bells on string._ ”

“You are fucking kidding me,” Seth chuckles.

Richie grins and shakes his head, an unspoken _I’m not kidding you_ as he goes right on lipsyncing at full gusto, miming scribbling with a pencil on the air.

“ _If I wrote a letter to Santa Claus,  
I would ask for just one thing._ ”

Now he’s swaying his hips to the slow, bluesy rhythm, really _feeling_ the music, one hand dreamily tapping the tempo against his chest. Seth settles back to enjoy the show. A drunk Richie is a beautiful thing, slack and loose-limbed, a million miles away from the high-strung spaz that Seth usually has to deal with. This is the Richie that Seth loves best, the twisted little goofball, the tease who throws him a playful wink as he goes all out on this ridiculous performance.

“ _I don’t need sleigh rides in the snow,  
Don’t want a Christmas that’s blue._ ”

Richie is so wasted that he holds nothing back, his face wildly, expressively dedicated to every lyric, even squeezing his eyes shut and rising onto his toes for the high notes. 

“ _Take back the tinsel, stockings, and bows,  
‘Cuz all I want for Christmas is you._ ”

He points right at Seth on the last word, and even though Seth _knew_ he was gonna do it, it still gives him a stupid little flutter of excitement anyway. Richie might be playing this like it’s all a big joke, but Seth knows that he means every word of it, and even after all these years, that still makes Seth feel like a million bucks. 

Then Richie’s smile turns wicked, and as the song hits the bridge, he reaches up and starts to slowly pull down the zipper of his hoodie. 

“ _I don’t need expensive things,  
They don’t matter to me._ ”

When the zipper pops open, he pivots around to turn his back on Seth, sliding the hoodie off one shoulder and then the other, officially turning the song into a clumsy, drunk, adorable striptease. 

“ _All that I want can’t be found  
Underneath the Christmas tree._ ”

He shimmies his arms the rest of the way out of the sleeves, yanking one hand clear and using the other to give the hoodie a few ungainly spins before he tosses it off to one side. Now he’s down to his AC/DC t-shirt, and he toys flirtatiously with the hem of it, tugging it up to flash his skinny stomach. He’s got that _look_ on his face, that _this is all for you, Seth_ look, and Seth groans in acknowledgment and appreciation as Richie delivers the next lyrics with everything he’s got.

“ _You are the angel atop my tree._  
 _You are my dream come true._  
 _Santa can’t bring me—_ ”

And Richie drops to his knees, throwing himself into the song like he’s really singing it and he’s gonna sell every word.

“ _—what I need  
‘Cuz all I want for Christmas is you!_ ”

He points at Seth with both hands this time, and Seth blows him a kiss in response.

“This is my Christmas present, right here,” he says. “I’m looking at it. Now I wanna touch it.”

Richie wags a scolding finger. “I gotta finish unwrapping it first.”

Fucking dork. Seth rolls his eyes and gestures for him to carry on.

The song segues into a tantalizing saxophone solo, and Richie climbs back to his feet so he can get to work on slowly stripping out of his jeans, taking his sweet time on the button and zipper. He turns his back again as he hooks his thumbs in the belt loops and slides them down his legs, displaying his ass to Seth as he shoves his jeans down to the floor, stepping out of them first with one foot and then the other. At first he just leaves them there in a pile, but after a beat of consideration he gives them an awkward kick and sends the jeans tumbling off into the corner. 

At this point all he’s wearing is that t-shirt, his wristwatch, two old sweat socks, and his favorite pair of Superman briefs. Seth loves those stupid skivvies. They’re made of blue material, the elastic waistband and seams outlined in red, the Superman logo plastered right over the bulge of Richie’s cock. They’re just so perfectly absurd, this goofy kiddie underwear on this cold-blooded killer, Seth’s crazy little brother who’s just as likely to slit someone’s throat as he is to spend three straight hours watching Saturday morning cartoons. What a priceless freak.

As the lyrics jump back in, Richie jumps right in with them, removing his socks as he does so.

“ _I don’t need expensive things  
They don’t matter to me._ ”

He manages to balance on one foot and get the first sock off without too much trouble, but he’s only halfway out of the second sock when his inebriation catches up with him and he crashes backwards onto his ass. Seth instinctively starts to get up to help him, but he relaxes when Richie sits back up laughing uncontrollably, totally undone by his own clumsiness.

“Ah, fuck,” he giggles. “Shit, man, what the fuck.”

He finally manages to get the second sock off and throws it over his shoulder, then hoists himself up onto his knees and throws himself back into the lipsync even harder than before.

“ _Underneath the Christmas tree!_ ”

He rocks back on his heels, crossing his arms over his belly to grab the hem of his t-shirt and slowly drag it up along the length of his abdomen, his eyes never leaving Seth’s face. 

“ _You are the angel atop my tree,  
You are my dream come true._ ”

The next lyric gets a bit lost as Richie reaches behind the back of his neck to grab the t-shirt and pull it off over his head. His glasses get tangled up in the collar as it goes over, and they end up getting yanked off along with the rest of it, tossed away into a heap next to the discarded jeans. Richie’s down to his wristwatch and his Superman skivvies and he’s never looked sexier, splayed out on his knees and tousling his own hair into a messiness that’s just begging to be grabbed by the fistful.

“ _—what I need  
‘Cuz all I want for Christmas is you!_ ”

And Richie goes down on his hands and knees and starts _crawling_ towards Seth across the dirty carpet, his shoulders and hips swaying to the rhythm, his approach slow and sizzling with intent. Seth leans back and spreads his legs a bit wider in anticipation.

“ _‘Cuz all I want for Christmas is you!_ ”

Time for the grand finale. Richie rears up onto his knees again, arms flung out in full diva mode as Lisa Layne goes for the big finish. 

“ _‘Cuz all I want for Christmas..._ ”

And as she hits the crescendo, Richie leans back on his heels, his whole body arching like he’s straining every single muscle to nail that last high note. 

“ _...is you!_ ”

The note goes on, and as Richie holds it along with her, he slides back down to his hands and knees and crawls those last few steps into the space between Seth’s legs, so that when Lisa finally lets up and the wailing guitar kicks back in, Richie is kneeling right there with his hands on Seth’s thighs, his face tilted up towards his brother with a smug grin. 

“Merry Christmas, Seth,” he purrs. 

“Merry Christmas, buddy,” Seth breathes in answer, his fingers already curling into Richie’s hair. 

He yanks Richie’s head the rest of the way back so he can swoop down for a kiss, and as the drums pound and the guitar brings it home, Seth can feel Richie’s arms sliding up around his neck to draw him closer. The flavor of Richie’s mouth is laced with straight whiskey, so not only does the kiss actually _feel_ like it’s making Seth more drunk, but it _tastes_ like it, too. He kisses Richie till he’s dizzy with the force of it, till Richie is moaning and gasping against his lips, all the sense kissed right out of him.

Then the radio starts blasting ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.’

“For fuck’s sake!” Seth barks.

He grabs an empty whiskey bottle off the table and throws it at the radio with all his strength. Both bottle and radio smash into pieces on impact, and after the resounding crash has faded, the desired silence is achieved. Seth turns back to Richie, both hands on his face. 

“Now, where were we?” he breathes. 

“I dunno,” Richie pants. “Tongues were involved. I was into it. Think I’m gonna get to third base tonight.”

“Oh, you think?” Seth laughs, his thumbs fiddling with Richie’s ears. “Well, I hear it’s better to give than to receive. Wanna test that theory?”

“I’ll give first,” Richie runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “If I can receive last.”

“Square deal,” Seth says. “Get to giving, buddy.” 

Richie pulls Seth in for another kiss, then moves his attention lower on Seth’s body, nuzzling his way down along the front of Seth’s sweatshirt until he reaches his jeans. He reaches in to undo the button and fly while Seth runs his hands over the top of Richie’s head and down along the nape of his neck, out over his bare shoulders and back. 

“That was some show you put on there,” he murmurs in approval. “Didn’t peg you for a fan of the Valiants.”

“It’s just the one song,” Richie says, as he works Seth’s jeans and boxers down over his hips. “Her voice is so raw, man. I love that kinda Christmas song, those ‘I miss my baby’ Christmas songs.” He half-sings a half-tune, approximating the genre in a messy slur. “ _It’s Christmas time... I miss my baby... missing my baby at Christmas time..._ ” He breaks off with a self-conscious giggle. “C’mon, you know what I’m talking about.”

“Yeah, I know,” Seth chuckles. “But you don’t gotta sing those songs, buddy. Your baby’s right here.” 

Richie closes his eyes and gives a happy little hum, his fingers curling around Seth’s thighs. “My baby’s right here.”

“He sure is,” Seth gives a significant cough. “And his dick’s getting cold.” 

Richie snickers, “sorry, baby,” and leans forward, obediently fastening his mouth on the head of Seth’s cock, his tongue laving it with a series of warm, reassuring licks. Seth sinks back onto the couch with his hands in Richie’s hair, thinking that if this is how it was _meant_ to be celebrated, then maybe he wouldn’t mind this whole Christmas thing so much. He’s gonna have to ask for this every year.

Even when he’s almost too drunk too function, Richie still delivers a hell of a blowjob. Maybe it’s because he gets so much practice. Seth keeps up a steady stream of praise, knowing that Richie thrives on it, that every _so good_ and _that’s real nice buddy_ will only make it last that much longer and be that much better. Richie always sucks his cock like he’s got something to prove, and goading him on like that just makes him try even harder, his shoulders drawing up and his eyes squeezed shut in concentration. 

Funny that Richie should sing that all he wants for Christmas is Seth. Because all Seth wants for Christmas— all he’s ever wanted, all he ever _will_ want— is this son of a bitch right here, forever a part of him, body and soul. It doesn’t matter which is thicker, blood or water— Richie’s the blood _and_ the water and everything else besides, the pool that Seth will drown in, the riptide that drags him under time and time again. 

He clenches his fist in Richie’s hair and mutters, “Here it comes, buddy— here it— _ah_ —”

And he comes, his hips jerking shallowly into Richie’s mouth as Richie swallows it all down, like he always does, like he has since the very first time. 

Then Richie’s rubbing his face back and forth against Seth’s thighs, all out of breath as he licks his lips, endearingly pleased with himself. Seth takes a minute to let the post-orgasmic fireworks settle down in his nerves. In the meantime he tousles Richie’s head, leaning down to press his nose into the sweaty hair. 

“Merry Christmas to me,” he says, and Richie giggles, pressing a kiss to the inside of Seth’s leg. 

“My turn?” he wonders eagerly. 

Seth tweaks his ears. “Your turn. Chinese fire drill, let’s go.” 

They jump to their feet at the same time, and, lacking a car to run circles around, they stagger a drunken lap around the coffee table instead, both of them laughing like idiots before Richie ends up flopping down into the seat Seth just vacated, Seth taking Richie’s place down on the floor. He pulls off his sweatshirt and throws it aside, then snuggles right up into Richie’s lap, his bare chest pressed against Richie’s belly. Richie sighs and pushes his hands into the hair at the nape of Seth’s neck, looking down at him with the sweetest, stupidest look on his face. 

“Hey, Seth,” he murmurs, gently scratching his head. 

“Hey, buddy,” Seth murmurs back, his heart going double-time. 

He pushes his hands into the space between Richie’s back and the couch, then cups them against Richie’s body and slides downwards, catching the red elastic waistband of Richie’s underwear and pulling them down over the curve of his ass. Richie groans and cants up his hips to let Seth tug that Superman blue all the way down the length of his legs, where he pops them off his feet and tosses them up, up, and away. 

“ _Seth,_ ” Richie moans, arching his back. “Make it hurt, _please._ ”

“Gonna make you _scream,_ ” Seth promises, leaning down to plant one last tender kiss on Richie’s hip.

Then he bites him in the exact same place, his teeth digging into the edge of the pelvic bone. Richie hisses and surges against him, his clenched fists slamming into the couch, his legs reaching out to hook around Seth’s back and pull him closer. Seth sucks hard, drawing a livid purple bruise to the surface of the skin while Richie squirms and whines with pleasure, his shaking hands moving to the back of Seth’s head to hold him there. Seth takes his mouth away and Richie makes a sound of disappointment, but Seth is just moving lower, sinking his teeth into the tender skin of Richie’s inner thigh. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” Richie gasps, his head thrown back, his breath already coming in shallow gulps. “Harder, harder.”

Seth tightens his jaw and Richie releases a strangled cry, the knuckles of one hand jammed into his mouth to stifle himself. Seth doesn’t let go until he knows he’s left a mark. When he eases off his grip again, Richie releases a loud, juddering sigh of anticipation. He knows what comes next, as Seth grabs him roughly by the hips and finally takes Richie’s cock into his mouth.

“Yeah,” Richie moans. “Yeah, like that, Seth, please, _please..._ ”

While Richie gets fired up by Seth’s words of praise, Seth gets the most torqued up when Richie _begs._ He loves that Richie needs it, needs it so badly that he doesn’t even _try_ to hide it, open and desperate and pleading with every breath. It just makes Seth want to give it to him even more. He always wants to give Richie everything he wants. That’s not about to change here. 

He works Richie’s dick roughly, more often than not scraping it with his teeth, causing Richie to whimper and shudder down to his bones. Richie shifts around on the couch but he can’t get far— Seth’s got an iron grip on his hips, his fingers digging in so hard that there’s a guarantee Richie will have ten matching fingerprint bruises ringed around his ass tomorrow. Richie loves having bruises. He’ll keep poking them for days, delighting in the sting, until they inevitably, disappointingly fade away to nothing. 

Seth sets a punishing tempo, but it’s a tempo all the same. He lets Richie become aware of it, waits until Richie starts to adapt to its rhythm, learning when to brace himself for the next scrape of teeth. Then, just as Richie begins to lower his guard, Seth sits back on his heels and brings both hands down in a violent double-slap, cracking his palms against Richie’s thighs. Richie yelps in sudden agony, his body instinctively doubling over to protect itself. Seth shoves him back upright and ducks into the open space to wrap his mouth around Richie’s cock again. 

“Oh fuck,” Richie chokes out, his hands pawing at the top of Seth’s head. “Fuck, _fuck._ ”

Seth sucks him off aggressively, using his teeth and tongue to their full extent, pushing him to his limit as fast as he can. He can feel the orgasm building in Richie’s body, his muscles tense and trembling, his breathing turning fast and erratic. Seth bears down with all he’s got, and as he bobs his head up and down, he slips his hands under Richie’s legs, curling his arms back around so that he’s holding on to the top of Richie’s thighs. With a grip like this, Richie won’t be able to get away from him anytime soon. Satisfied, Seth dips down and takes as much of Richie into his throat as he can manage. 

“Wait, wait—” Richie gasps, but it’s too late, he’s coming and there’s no way to stop it. 

Richie always comes loud, loud and messy, his body wracked with spasms while he grunts and wheezes until every last drop has been wrung out of him. Over the years Seth has gotten real good at holding him down and finishing him off, and tonight is no exception; he locks his arms around Richie’s thighs and keeps him nice and pinned while he works him over, drawing the orgasm out to almost unbearable lengths, swallowing down everything Richie gives him.

As the aftershocks gradually start to fade, Seth pulls back for a moment of brief respite. Richie has gone limp and boneless with contentment, a melted puddle on the couch cushions, his chest heaving up and down. Seth makes sure he’s got a good, solid grip on those thighs. Then he leans down and takes Richie’s over-sensitized cock all the way into his mouth again. 

“ _Ah,_ ” Richie cries out, his body arching in protest. “Yeah— yeah—”

His hands fumble at Seth’s head, pushing it down for more, more, always more, even while every instinct in his body fights to get away from the overstimulation. Seth has to hold on tight while Richie’s hips buck and thrash against him, trying to throw him off even while Richie begs for him to keep going, his voice shrill with need.

“Fuck, ah, ah God— _God_ — _Seth_ — don’t stop, please don’t stop, please, _please_ —”

He’s tearing at Seth’s hair now, his legs churning in a helpless frenzy, his body jerking and shuddering. Seth keeps going— he keeps going— and finally, there it is, Richie _screams_ , every inch of him going rigid and his face turning blood red from the strain of the howl erupting from his throat. 

Instantly Seth takes his mouth away from Richie’s poor, burned out cock, and he sits up to catch Richie by the shoulders as he collapses entirely, every single synapse in his brain completely fried by the force of his climax. Seth guides him down so that he ends up lying on his side, his legs curled up on the couch behind him, his breath coming in deep, gulping moans. 

“Holy shit,” Richie wheezes. “Holy— holy—”

Seth pets the sweaty hair on his forehead and grins at him. 

“Holy fucking night,” he says. “Just like the song.”

Richie’s eyes are rolling around in his skull, still too overwhelmed to do much besides draw oxygen in and out of his lungs. Seth just keeps petting him, first his head but then moving on to the rest of his body, drawing long, soothing strokes down the length of his spine and out along his trembling limbs. Richie closes his eyes and anchors himself in that touch, his breathing gradually starting to sync up with Seth’s, nice and easy. When he opens his eyes again, he looks like he’s at least recovered the ability to form a coherent thought. 

“Merry Christmas to me,” he mumbles, dazed. 

“Merry Christmas to you,” Seth confirms, leaning in to give him a kiss.

Richie drapes a sleepy arm around him, pulling Seth towards the couch, trying to draw his brother down over him like a blanket. 

“C’mere, Seth,” he says drowsily. “C’mere and hold me.” 

There’s nothing else that Seth would rather do. He manages to tear himself away for one agonizing moment, just long enough to get his jeans the rest of the way off and grab a proper blanket for the both of them. Then he crawls up along the length of Richie’s body, positioning himself in the space between his brother and the back of the couch. He spreads the blanket over their naked bodies before he settles down and pulls Richie against his chest to be the little spoon. Richie snuggles back against him with a happy sigh, their legs twining together under the cocoon of the quilt. 

“New Christmas tradition,” Seth breathes against Richie’s ear. “Drunk stripteases to holiday pop music.” 

Richie chuckles, settling his hands over Seth’s where they cross his chest. “I’m down if you are.” He twists his neck so he can look back over his shoulder. “But next year, you have to do it.”

“Come on, I’d be terrible at it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” 

“I don’t even know what song I’m gonna use.”

“You’ve got a whole year to figure it out.”

Seth gives him a squeeze and imitates his tuneless tune from before. “ _It’s Christmas time... I miss my baby... missing my baby at Christmas time..._ ”

“Don’t gotta sing that,” Richie says, soft. “Your baby’s right here.”

Seth smiles, nuzzling the back of Richie’s neck. “My baby’s right here.” 

A matching pair of massive hangovers looms in their future like the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Tomorrow morning is gonna be fucking miserable, but as per usual, Seth has no regrets. Besides, that’s still hours away yet. Right now he’s got Richie all tucked up in his arms, skin to skin from head to toe, and nothing else could ever matter as much as this. As Richie yawns and sinks back into the cradle of Seth’s arms, Seth squints over at the VCR clock and sees that it’s past midnight. Technically, it’s Christmas Day. 

They fall asleep on the couch together, the artificial fireplace still crackling and glowing, the broken radio and whiskey bottle still scattered all over the floor. And if Santa fucking Claus somehow does end up passing through that night, he’ll probably take one look at this goddamn mess and get the hell out of there.

 _That’s okay,_ Seth thinks as he dozes off. _I already got everything I asked for this year._

 

 

 

_____________end.


End file.
